


On Love, and More Love

by XIIIBlackCatXIII



Series: The Magnus Archives shorts [7]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, alcohol mention, implied eating disorder, theres also lots of lil kisses, therye horrendously soft with each other, these are like small things but i wanna make sure people are safe, unhealthy eating patterns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XIIIBlackCatXIII/pseuds/XIIIBlackCatXIII
Summary: It's just a bit of a back and forth on things Martin and Jon love about each other, and lots of softness.They just need softness okay.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: The Magnus Archives shorts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1689514
Comments: 10
Kudos: 121





	On Love, and More Love

**Author's Note:**

> Makes someone who's only knowledge of TMA is what I've told him about how it makes me cry look thru my work-

Jon was weird, Martin knew this. 

But, if he was being honest with himself (which wasn’t often but by god he was trying, for Jon), his weirdness was what drew him to the other man.

He knew that most of his idiosyncrasies were the result of trauma, or his upbringing, or both, or countless other things that it could be at this point, and he didn’t fault him any of it. Certain things, the more destructive things, he’d try to gently help him find better alternatives with nothing but a soft smile.   
What else could he do? Jon had saved his life more times than he cares to count, and it wasn’t like Jon wasn’t doing the same with him, when he’d start to fade, when The Lonely called too loud for him to ignore.

But Jon…

They’d been living together for the past six years now, at least, they think it’s about six years, the whole apocalypse thing made it a bit difficult to track time, but they were reasonably sure it was about six years.    
Six years, and there were still things he’d discover about the love of his life.

Most of them came in early on, such as when Martin would be away for a long day at work (it was just working the till and stocking the shelves at the local Tescos, but it brought in some extra money for the bills Jon’s disability pay wouldn’t cover), and he’d came home after a late shift to find Jon asleep on their ratty little sofa, curled up around his laptop with their giant picnic thermos on the floor next to him, for some reason.

Martin shook him awake, gently, and with a soft smile so that it would be the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes, “Jon, you know you shouldn’t sleep on the sofa, it’s not going to help your aches.”

Jon muttered unintelligibly, probably some colourful language at being woken up, but his tired eyes locked with Martin’s and all he could see in them was unadulterated love. 

As he gently helped the creaking man sit up without losing his laptop to the floor, he cocked his head at the thermos, “what’s that for, love?”

It took a moment for Jon to focus on it, but when he did, he looked to the side quickly, seemingly embarrassed, “I uh, need coffee.”

“ _ That  _ much?”

“It's, I just- I forget.”

Martin kneels in front of him, soft smile still in place, “it’s okay Jon, I was just wondering, you don’t need to-”

“If I'm working I forget to eat and drink when you’re not here.”

“Oh.” Martin blinked, not expecting the frank confession, especially with how Jon seemed determined to not look at him, “so you, uh, drink coffee?”

“I uh, make a big coffee for the day, I had a packet of biscuits too…”

“So you’ve had nothing but like, ten cups of coffee and a packet of biscuits since breakfast this morning?”

“They- They were bourbons.”

“ _ Jonathan. _ ”

Martin wasn’t sure how Jon managed to pull off the kicked dog look so well, and he sighs, unable to keep the fondness out of the gesture.

He takes Jon’s face in his hands and pulls him over slightly so he can press a soft kiss to his nose, “then I guess I have to make you some dinner, don’t I?”

"You don't- I can do it, I-" 

Martin cut him off with a quick, soft kiss, "you think you can survive off of a packet of bourbon creams, I think I better deal with dinner."

The pout on Jon's face was almost too much, he may have just looked like he was annoyed, but Martin could tell it apart from his other vaguely annoyed faces, and it almost made Martin cave and just curl up on the sofa with him, peppering kisses over his face until they both fell asleep.

But Martin is stronger than that, and he pulls himself away.

Or, he would have, if Jon hadn't been holding onto his arm. He gives him a look, as he accidentally pulls the much smaller man to his feet.

Jon flashes a quick grin, more teeth than actual smile, "quickest way up," was all he offered, and Martin rolled his eyes, trying not to grin at him as he grabbed Jon's cane from where it had fallen by the arm of the sofa, and passed it over.

Jon's lingering touch as he took hold of it was his way of saying thanks, and the two of them walked slowly the short distance to the kitchen.

Martin had picked up the thermos as they passed it, it had to be washed after all, so he started filling the sink, the water pressure was horrendous, so he knew it would take a while to fill the sink. He turned back towards Jon, smiling as he saw him rummaging through the freezer, "we don't have any microwave meals left, we need to go shopping again soon."

Jon moved away from the freezer, bags of frozen vegetables clutched to his chest, "I thought we could make a stew in the slow cooker, so we can have a nice lunch tomorrow."

Martin watched him dump the bags on the counter, and went back to the fridge.

"And for dinner,  _ tonight? _ " 

Jon gave him a little look, amusement in his eyes, "I thought  _ you _ were making dinner."

Martin let out a laugh, not noticing the way Jon's eyes stayed glued to his face, drinking in the beautiful sight that was Martin's laugh, as though he'd never seen it before despite seeing it hundreds of times.

Martin moved past him, nudging him gently as he passed to grab some pans from the cupboard, "some quick and easy pasta, then?" 

He grabbed the gravy pots as well, dumping them in the slow cooker and pouring warm water from the sink over them, using the saucepan he was filling with water from the sink.

Jon made an affirming noise, something simple, easy to digest at this time of night, and not too difficult to make. Martin was a better cook than Jon, but honestly, that wasn't hard.    
Martin had several different types of cookbooks that he'd follow, creating something new and bringing it to Jon to test, knowing he'd be honest. Jon loved Martin, and the food he would make him, but sometimes he didn't love the  _ taste _ of the food (or sometimes it was the texture, but he was good at ignoring the slight discomfort from texture by now), and whilst he hates the thought of upsetting Martin, he knows that he values the honesty far more than any sense of pride.

But he felt it had come too far to tell Martin that he doesn't like tea.

Well, more rightly, he  _ loved _ the tea Martin made him, he had no idea what he did to it, but ever since he'd taken that first lukewarm sip, oh so many years ago, thinking it was coffee due to not paying any attention to anything other than his work at the moment, he thought something had gone wrong.

He didn't like tea, he confirmed that with the mug he tried to make himself later, to test. He had even  _ watched  _ Martin make the tea, and replicated it, but it still didn't taste quite right.

Whatever Martin's secret to making his tea was, he could never unearth it. And after a while, he didn't mind.

The only tea he liked was the one that Martin made for  _ him. _

It was worse, when Martin was in the palm of The Lonely, and he found himself missing the tea he used to have all the time. 

He also kept not drinking anything, unless it was brought to him. It wasn't until Daisy had placed a large thermos on his desk one day that he really took it in, realising how bad it had gotten.

He hadn't been expecting the vodka, though.

Daisy found it hilarious.

But that was when he started bringing in his own thermos, non-alcoholic coffee in it, as Daisy seemed determined to refer to it, her face impassive as he struggled to figure out how much of what she said was a joke.

After everything was dealt with, he had no reason to continue the thermos trick, up until Martin got himself a job and his stable diet got less so stable. It hadn't occurred to him how much of his stability came from Martin, how much he kept his priorities on the right track.

He remembered feeling a bit… helpless, at his realisation, he knew he had problems but it just made him feel like- like he wasn't in control, and that was a feeling he  _ hated _ so, so much. So that was why he brought out the thermos instead of telling Martin.

He knew Martin would be quick to suggest something like a call, every now and then throughout the day to make sure Jon was caring for himself, but Jon didn't want that.

He wanted to be independent, to not have to rely on others for basic things like remembering to drink.

But now he had told Martin, and a weight had lifted, only to make room for a new one. He just, he just wanted to learn to be  _ normal _ , he'd hoped that the medication he had gotten from their therapist would help with that, but it never seemed to work for him, like Martin's worked for him.

It felt unfair, and it- 

"-Jon?" Martin had turned from the pasta sauce he was stirring, just to find Jon had poured a whole bag of frozen sweetcorn into the slow cooker, now full of that single vegetable and gravy.

Jon looked at him quizzically, having been startled out of his thoughts.

"Sweetcorn." It was all Martin could say, looking at the pile.

"I thought you liked sweetcorn?" His voice was so honest, confused.

Martin tried not to laugh, "yes, but I generally like my stew with  _ more  _ than just sweetcorn."

Jon looked at his mistake.

"Ah."

Martin couldn't help the laughter.

"I, uh, I didn't notice."

Martin stepped forwards, grabbing Jon's hands, tears of laughter in his eyes and brought them to his lips, "I love you, I love you so much Jon."

Jon's light blush got a bit deeper, and he didn't respond, feeling a bit overwhelmed at Martin's reaction.

It didn't matter how long it's been, he still expects sharp words, or a sharper hand.

Martin’s lips moved from his hands, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth instead, “I love you, Jon,” he repeated softly, straightening up.

Jon reached up quickly though, reaching up on his tiptoes to grasp Martin’s face and bring him back down, pushing their lips together again. Martin chuckled into the kiss as Jon buried his hands in his curls, and wrapped his arms around his small waist.

Martin hated how thin Jon was, one of the only things he really could say he hates, just because of all the trouble it causes him. Jon had very little energy on the best of days, and it didn’t matter how much he tried to eat, he never managed to gain any weight (they had, also attempted to see if it was a side-effect of being The Archivist, and if reading statements would help, but it didn’t and Jon gave up pretty quickly on that line of thinking.)

But, Jon being so small  _ did _ lend itself to some of Martin’s favourite things, such as tightening his grip and swinging him up to sit on the counter behind him, barely breaking the kiss.

Jon huffed at this, pulling away to give Martin’s smug face a look of annoyance. It was only a bit spoiled by how red his face was.

The look was only exacerbated when Martin spoke with a teasing voice, “make sure you’re careful getting down again, it’s pretty high up there for you.”

Jon gave him a haughty look in response, “I will jump down and break my legs as I wish, Martin.”

Martin laughed, “you’re ridiculous!” 

To Jon, Martin’s laugh was pure, and angelic, even if it started with a snorting sound, well, especially when it started with a snorting sound, and he’d be ridiculous for the rest of his life if it meant hearing him so  _ happy. _

Jon pulled him back in, whispering against his lips, “I love you, I love you.”

As they drew apart, slowly, Martin gave Jon an odd look, before he gasps, eyes wide, “the sauce!”

He moved away quickly to the stove, reaching for the spoon.

Jon craned his neck to look inside the pot, “too late.”

Martin’s shoulders dropped, looking at the amalgamated blob writhing in the bottom of the pot.

“It looks like-”

“ _ Don’t _ say it Jon.”

Jon scoots along the counter, getting closer to the stove, “do we have anymore in the cupboard?”

Martin sighed, “no, that was the last.”

Jon makes a small humming noise, “we could just have pasta with ketchup?”

Martin put his hands together and moved them towards his face, not looking at Jon, “Jonathan. I want a divorce.”

Jon blinked.

Martin turned to face him, “I love you but if you ever suggest something like that again then I am leaving, and I am taking the ficus.”

“I don’t even know which of them is the ficus.”

Martin gasped theatrically, “Benjamin, cover your leaves!”    
He then went over to the plant in the corner of the kitchen that Jon presumed was Benjamin, placing his hands on the leaves.

Jon tried his hardest not to laugh, and the over dramatic pout Martin was giving him didn’t help, “do we have any tuna then? Tuna and mayonnaise pasta.”

Martin gave him another over dramatic look, “you’re on thin ice with that suggestion.”

“W- why?”

“Because I know that if I give you it, you’re just going to try and eat around the tuna, which would make the whole adding tuna bit pointless, and you should just have your ketchup pasta.”

Jon didn’t even try to look sheepish, “but you could still have it.”

Martin rolled his eyes, and putting the ruined saucepan into the sink he grabbed a spoon and the pasta he’d already drained, starting to divide it onto two plates.

“Okay, you can do your own ketchup, I’ll make some tuna and mayo and can put the left over in the fridge, after we eat I’ll sort out the slow cooker and see if I can get something else in there too, then I can wash up, then I can shower, then we can go to bed.”

Jon looked at him fondly, Martin hates not having a step-by-step plan to follow, so he tends to speak out loud what he plans to do, regardless of how mundane. It also helps him remember what he wants to do, and means that Jon can interrupt his plans outright, rather than right as he’s trying to get it done.

“I can do the washing up tonight, since I did make a right dogs arse of it all.”

Martin looked at him, trying to decipher if it was a deeper dig at himself, instead of just referencing the current situation, “you don’t have to do it, I’m perfectly capable.”

Jon rolls his eyes, “so am I, I just want to help you.” 

Martin looks to the side of the sink, “you’ll have to get your spare pair of gloves out then, and we’ll need to add that to the shopping list too.”   
Martin always made sure to have two sets of washing up gloves, he knows how much the soapy water irritates Jon’s hands, setting off phantom pains with his scars, and anyway, he looks cute when he’s stood there with his sleeves rolled up and the gloves that are always too small for him on.   
Martin  _ did _ try to find smaller gloves, but it was difficult, and he was banned from buying them himself after the time he accidentally brought the biggest size of gloves, and ended up on the floor, clutching his stomach in laughter as Jon tried, and failed, to look stern, with fingers that reminded them more of The Spiral than anything else.   
It didn’t help when Jon imitated Michael’s laugh while flapping the gloves around, and they both ended up curled on the floor.   
They did keep those gloves, they fit Martin alright enough so he kept them for when he cleaned, or just when all textures feel wrong, and he needed something to wear that wouldn’t stop him from grasping things.

Jon gets closer to the edge to slide down from the counter, but Martin tears himself from his thoughts to intercede, helping him down gently so he doesn’t jar his ankles.

“You treat me like porcelain.”

“Because you’re the most important thing in my life.”

Jon squeezes Martin’s hand.

“And as the most important thing in my life, I need to make sure you eat through the day.”

Jon felt his heart drop.

“Once we go shopping it’d be easier, but how about you put together a sort of lunchbox for the day, tonight, so you’ve got a valid diet next to you while you work yourself to the bone?”

Jon paused, mouth open in dumb shock, “I- I didn’t think of that.”

Martin hummed happily, “that’s what I’m here for.”

Jon chuckled, feeling a surge of warm love for him, and already thinking about what he should pack, as he brought Martin’s hand to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles before letting go to open the fridge. 

“Ketchup,” he said as he removed the item and placed it on the counter, “mayonnaise.”    
At that, Martin turned, ready to catch the bottle he knew would be headed his way.   
Jon threw it underarm, with his left hand, making sure that it wouldn’t aggravate his burn scar, and when Martin caught it, he let out a little cheer.

Jon smiled, he never thought he’d have a domestic life like this, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone thank Emilio for his help in looking thru this for triggers, and if you see anything we've missed feel free to tell me, this goes for any of my other works too, I just want people to feel safe, yanno.


End file.
